Helena Beat
by saudade do coracao
Summary: [Based on Foster The People's music video] He made his choice on the road when he wanted to be a savior. -— Post-apocalyptic piece with some stream-of-consciousness narrative. One-shot.


Based on the 2011 music video for "Helena Beat," performed by Foster the People and directed by Ace Norton. This is an experimental piece for me. If anyone ever reads this, please let me know what you think.

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><p>Burning.<p>

The city is burning, black smoke billowing up into the sky and ashes descending in thick sheets. A modern ruin, falling into decay in his rearview mirror, evidence of the destruction of stupidity.

He is driving away through the long stretch of desert that heads southwest. Flames lick the dry bushes on the sides of the road and matchstick trees occasionally explode in a burst of sparks, the devastation in the city reaching even out here. He drives through shimmers of heat, pushing 100, one hand on the wheel. His free hand brushes the postcard (_Come back soon!_), sooty middle finger resting near the skyscraper where his brother once worked. He doesn't look back much. He has seen what he needs to.

His dog pants beside him in the passenger seat. It and he are the only ones left. On the stretch of road behind him not one vehicle has emerged from the inferno. Only he saw this coming. Only he heeded his warnings.

He sees the object in the middle of the road while he is still a long way off. Slowly it takes shape and focuses into a baby carriage. He considers swerving around it and continuing on his flight, but something irrational in him wants to save what he can. If there is indeed a baby left in the middle of the southwest road through the desert, he will save it. Life is precious.

He stops the car and gets out warily, his thick jacket protecting him from the unadulterated rays of the sun. There is no sound. If there is a baby, it must be in deathly condition. He approaches the carriage and sees a form inside covered with a blanket. Cautiously he reaches out with one hand and uncovers it. It's only a doll, a dirty plastic naked doll that spews dark liquid at him from its mouth, marking him. It's a signal and suddenly he's surrounded by a crowd of desperate filthy ruffians. He sees his dog fleeing across the desert and knows not one body has turned in pursuit of it. He is the one the trap was for; he is the one they want.

But they are only children and he watches them, waiting, not understanding why they are here for him. One of the taller boys steps forward, swings back a hockey stick, and hits him full in the face. He sees it coming; he doesn't even flinch. He is too surprised. He hadn't calculated on this. The last thing he sees is his own blood as he hits the ground.

He wakes up in the back of his van, hands tied. Children are driving his car, eating his food, going through his things. They strike him at whim, an amusement to pass the time. They do not want to talk; they tell him nothing, and before he can plan a course of action the van is stopped and they are roughly pulling him from the back of the vehicle. He fights them; he knows this is not good and whatever they want him for will not end well for him. But though he is grown and they are young they are too many. They drag him kicking to his fate and he doesn't care now if he is fighting children; they are corrupted and too far gone and it's a struggle for his life. But it is too late. He made his choice on the road when he wanted to be a savior.

There are children everywhere, swarms of them, carrying guns and knives and dressed in freakish costumes as though a Halloween party somewhere has gone horribly wrong. They are hitting him, kicking him, pinning him to the floor, their many small forms overpowering his larger one. He struggles to rise, to protect himself. They let him sometimes before pushing him down again. It's all a game to them and he learns quickly that it goes easier when he just bears it. Their hysteria crescendos when he flails.

Finally they take him away and strap him into a chair with an obviously nefarious purpose but he doesn't ask. He has learned asking is pointless. It is all meaningless and there is nothing to understand and there is nothing to explain. It just is and it is cruel but it is there.

He is covered in bruises and his face is swollen and bloodied. There is an older man seated across from him in a similar chair, calm and knowing. Somehow he knows what is coming is worse than everything that has come before and his chest heaves as panic seizes him. But even now he does not struggle against his bonds. There is no escape from this, this has been his destiny since he stopped and he cannot evade it. He stares head-on at the other man, even when the other man pulls a white mask down to obscure his face, even when hands near him pull a similar mask over his own. His nose and mouth are closely nestled in the white stuff and it is hard to suck the searing oxygen into his lungs. But soon there's no time to think about that because his body is being torn by shocks of spastic energy and he has lost all control of his limbs. Yet he does not look away. He meets his fate directly until he forgets to think forgets to remember forgets to be.

Young soft hands pale and scar free. They turn on impulse and he thinks illogically that his fingers were longer once. He reaches up pushes away a mask fitted against his face and tentatively feels his cheekbones jaw neck. Something is unfamiliar and he can't place it. His face is tender and swollen but he doesn't remember receiving injuries. Across the room an old man leans back in a chair exhausted but he spares hardly a thought for him before the other children are dragging him away.

Later they are out playing in a dry landscape under an open sky. He stands off to the side watching dark smoke billow up from tall buildings in the distance and thinks he has seen that place before somehow maybe in a dream. Something blue in the sand at his feet suddenly catches his eye and he stoops to pick up a picture of the buildings without smoke against a blue sky. _Come back soon!_ Something clicks and shutters in his mind and he thinks how stupid life is and how stupid people are. He is hungry and tears the picture in pieces before shoving it ferociously in his mouth. Sharp corners prick at the insides of his cheeks and his mouth is too full but he has learned that pain is what keeps you alive. Pain is the point. Pain is the reality.

He turns back suddenly to his friends. He doesn't want to miss anything.


End file.
